We all love a good story. I remember when I was a little girl, sitting in the lounge close to the speakers on the Panasonic Hi-Fi, listening to magical bedtime stories on the small black records from my dad's record player. I would curl up in my pyjamas and soak in the soothing voice of the narrator, transporting myself to the magical places in my mind, creating scenes where I could see each character in the story. My favourite was The 12 Dancing Princesses. Each night, the 12 princesses would go to a secret castle and dance the night away, only stopping when they could dance no more. To reach the hidden castle, they passed through a magical forest (this was the part I loved) filled with leaves and trees covered in gold, silver, and diamonds. It was magical in my mind.
This is a story (and memory) that I feel so very fondly about. However, depending on the narrative I choose to share, it is also a story that can have a different ending. That same evening, people broke into our home late at night while we were sleeping upstairs. Now, living in South Africa, this was a common occurrence, but it never felt any easier. My brother got home late that night and walked in to see them. Luckily for him and us, our story is one of the better ones, as they started running with the items they had already packed up, jumping the wall and getting away without hurting anyone. But as a little girl, I didn't realise the impact of someone being in our home—violating our safe space. I was too young to register for it, but what affected me the most was when I realised they had stolen the little black story-time records. This broke my heart, and I burst into tears.
You see, depending on the narrative I choose to share, or the one I want to remember or focus on, determines my reality, how I feel about it, and how I decide to let the story end.
Think of our narratives as mini-movie scenes constantly running in the background—shaping and creating our realities. Much like the language and words we choose to use each day, our narrative is the more complete picture of those words—the movie scene—they are constructed either as a past memory, current situation, or future self.
When we think of our past, what is your narrative there? How would you describe your childhood or school years to someone who doesn't know you? What are the stories you share with friends and family? Is the narrative one that helps create a robust version of yourself now? Does it build you up and make you feel good, or keeps you small and stuck?
As I sit here asking you these questions, I, too, am examining my own narrative of my school years. I often describe it as a time when I was lost; I struggled with eating disorders, was taken advantage of physically, felt like the dumb blonde, and was constantly trying to fit in. This would be my narrative and story—until recently…
An old school friend commented on a post I did for Momentum Life Coaching, and what she said was something I was not expecting. She said: "I am so proud of your journey, so proud to have been friends with you in school, too. I remember our heart-to-hearts when we were going through tough times; those moments helped me realise that kindness is always the answer." Her message has really stuck with me this week because my version of high school is not one where I remember moments of kindness, good conversation, and deep connection. My narrative was utterly different, driven by shame, self-doubt, bad decisions, and sadness. Yet, my friend has just slapped me in the face in the best way possible—by shifting my story with a new meaning. And this is the power of our narrative.
Often, the narratives we play come from years of watching our own parents as they created their lives with all their different scenes. Through their stories, we have attached a few to ourselves, depending on the ones we have deemed important, and our movies are always changing and shifting. However, the ones we repeatedly repeat become our core narratives and often the core identity we unconsciously create.
So, I want you to think for a moment. What stories do you share often? We have seen the impact of our school years and how those narratives can affect us, but what about the narrative you play at home, in your relationship with your partner, and with your children?
Sometimes, we decide on the narratives that best suit us to allow us to get away with our behaviours, outbursts, and decisions in life. If we can blame the past, we can remove any damage pinned to ourselves now. If I am honest, I have used the 'dumb blonde, not the clever one in the family' narrative for far too long, keeping me passive in my thoughts. Recently, Jorge gave me some great feedback—he told me to be more active in my language when I do my videos because what I have to say has meaning and purpose, and I must stop being passive. This simple yet powerful statement made me realise my own narrative was holding me back, and I could either keep it or change it—guess what I chose.
I remember when Amelia was first born and the narrative I used to so easily talk about: "It goes something like this: when she was first born, it was so stressful, we moved houses and had to face COVID, fires, and floods. I was exhausted, unable to breastfeed, felt like a failure, and just kept trying to survive." And yes, all those things are true. Still, when I really think of the whole time and take the short narratives I focused on and put them back into the entire movie called First 5 Years as a Mum—well, then it's an entirely different story which sees times of us cuddling, enjoying walks, having her fall asleep on me (something I wish for all the time now). I can see her taking her first steps, playing at home, learning to eat, taking out all my skincare and applying lip gloss (her favourite word: "pop it"—when she opened the lip gloss lid and it popped open—so cute!), watching her discover the cupboards in the kitchen and putting a veggie strainer on her head as a hat. Now, that is the whole story and the magic of looking at your narrative from beginning to end, not just in short scenes.
According to the National Science Foundation, 80% of our thoughts are negative, and 95% are repetitive. Let that sink in.
So, we often focus on short pieces of our narratives, which are mainly negative, and repeat them constantly. In that case, it makes sense that we don't see the empowering, joyful, courageous, incredible, and purposeful life we have had and are living.
We become what we live, breathe, and repeat in our narratives. And I will be honest: Some of my internal narratives (even the ones I talk about aloud) need to change because, as of today, this moment, I know they are not going to get me to be who I want to be or to live the way I want to live. From today, I will remember my whole movie and every scene is worth remembering—the good, bad, and crazy times.
I believe that to truly embrace yourself; you must be willing to watch the whole movie and fall in love with each section for the lessons it has taught us, the decisions it has helped us make, and the tiny moments of joy that sprinkle their way throughout my movie, Vikki da Rocha.
So, my last question to you is: Do we have the courage to change our narrative, speak up, and share the whole story? Without a shadow of a doubt, all our stories will be pretty epic!
"The stories we tell ourselves shape who we are, and in turn, they shape the world around us. Change the narrative, and you change everything." — Anonymous.